


Woven Together

by timehopper



Series: Intersect and Overlap [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, Bounty Hunters, But mostly Canon-Compliant, Death, Frottage, Killing, M/M, Masturbation, Mercenaries, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Recall, Recall refusal, Shooting, Slightly Canon-Divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: After catching onto a lead on Talon's plans and whereabouts, McCree takes it and follows it to India. When he runs into a few familiar faces there, however, he wonders if maybe he isn't the only one chasing ghosts.





	1. Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to [Converge, Connect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11699460/chapters/26342574) and the third part of [Intersect and Overlap](http://archiveofourown.org/series/790701)! It's taken me a bit longer than anticipated to get this going, but I hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> If you haven't read the other parts to this series, I highly recommend you do. It isn't necessary, but context for certain events will help. 
> 
> Rating might go up as the story progresses. We'll see. ;)

He points the gun at the centre of the helmet. He can feel the Talon agent squirm under his boot, but he's got them pinned too well for them to actually escape. "Now I'm gonna ask you real nice," he drawls, low and dangerous, "To tell me what I wanna know. Last five sorry sons-o'-bitches didn't give me what I came for, and look how they turned out." With his metal hand, he gestures behind him at the bodies sprawled out along the hall, though only two of them can be seen from here. "You know who I am, right? You know what I can do. But I'd rather not make too much of a mess here if I can avoid it."

The agent squirms again, tries to reach for the gun they've got strapped to their thigh. McCree digs his heel into their sternum harder - if it weren't for the thick body armour, the spur would be cutting through skin. "None o' that, now." He nudges the agent's throat with the toe of his boot. "I'm dead serious. I dunno how many of y'all know each other round here, but if you were Blackwatch then you must've known O'Hare, right?"

The agent grunts. Choked from the pressure on their neck, they bite out, "That was you--"

Male voice. Unfamiliar. McCree chews his cigar and continues, "Yep. You know she had a family then, right? And I'm willin' to bet you got one too. So if you feel like goin' home to them at some point..." He shifts his finger to the trigger. "I think you know what to do."

He's used this speech five times already today. He wonders if this will be the last one as time ticks by. Twenty seconds pass; McCree can practically hear the gears turning in the agent's head. But in the end, he opens up and spills his guts.

When he's done, McCree grins and flicks his cigar off to the side, satisfied. He twirls Peacekeeper and holsters her, then lifts his foot off the agent's chest. He grins down at the man before walking off.

"Pleasure doin' business with you. Give your boss my regards."

 

\-----

 

Three weeks after Oasis, right to the day, McCree finds himself in India.  
  
The Talon agent had told him there was something big happening in India, but he hadn't been able to say what, exactly. McCree doubted it was him being stubborn and keeping his lips shut; he had been smart enough to tell McCree what he wanted to know and save his own life, which means he's probably smart enough not to go around telling people he gave info to the enemy. But giving the info away in the first place also means he isn't smart enough to know that eventually he'll get caught. And when he does, it's only a matter of time before Talon comes knocking on McCree's door. All that in mind, McCree guesses he probably has about two days, tops, to get in, get what he needs, and get out.  
  
The problem is that he's not sure what he needs. But he has a pretty good idea of where to get it.  
  
Vishkar has had a presence all over the world for years now. Its buildings are beautiful -- grand, shining beacons woven with light that put everything surrounding them to shame. This is certainly the case here in India, but the contrast of this building and its surroundings, even when compared to its sister in Rio de Janeiro (another spectacle of economic disparity), is something else entirely.  
  
That had been McCree's first hint that something was up with this company. He has a tendency to pay attention to the international news, and a few months back Brazil had been all over it. Revolts against Vishkar made international headlines on the daily. There had always been rumours going around, right since the project was announced following the Calado explosion. There had been talk of conspiracy. Talk of people, overworked and underpaid, promised houses but never getting their dues. Talk of the strict watch kept over the people of the favelas. Talk of disappearances. Talk of curfews. Talk of sonic technology used to suppress and repress people and their protests.  
  
These rumours had ended up culminating in reports of theft from the City Center, immediately preceding the revolt that had all but driven Vishkar out of the city, lead by now-international music sensation Lúcio Correia dos Santos. That had been what the media focused on in particular: the kick that had launched Lúcio to fame. But McCree had seen deeper: there had been something terrifyingly familiar about the photos in articles discussing sonic technology, about the way the pictures had shown people on their knees, screaming and covering their ears.  
  
This kind of tech isn't unheard of, but it's not exactly public knowledge, either. It was the kind of thing Blackwatch had used, but had kept under wraps. Until now, McCree had never thought much of it; he'd heard of it being used by others (Blackwatch had to get it from somewhere, right?) but now, looking back, all he can see are connections.  
  
It's a longshot, but he's learned to trust his instincts.  
  


\-----

 

"Step back."

McCree stills. His hands hover over the keyboard on the desk in front of him, but he doesn't bother to straighten up or turn around. He stays completely still, just listening. There's no sound, no indication of heavy machinery or weaponry. Still, he knows all about Vishkar and its Architechs' ability to make just about anything they want become real, just by waving their hands around a bit. It's like magic. McCree has never liked magic.

"Sorry," he says. "No can do."

In the span of a second, he turns around, draws his gun, and shoots down the guard. 

He pulls up the building's floor plans, takes as many pictures of the various floors as he dares, and runs just as alarms start to go off.

 

\-----

 

He ducks behind walls and around corners, hides behind potted plants and in whatever shadows he can. He hardly has to fire a shot until he gets cornered, stuck waiting for a damn elevator of all things. He presses the buttons rapidly, up and down; he doesn't care which direction he goes in, just as long as he  _ goes. _ He can hear people coming. McCree looks up at the display above the elevator doors. One is on the twelfth floor, and the other is on the eighth floor. He's on the third. And they’re taking their sweet time to descend.

"Damn it!" He presses the buttons again, and again and again and again, as if that will make the elevators arrive faster. It won't. He knows it won't. And it's too late, anyway: four Vishkar Architechs have already found him and are slowly stalking toward him, strange weapons raised and swirling, vibrating, pulsing with blue light.

"We've got him!" One of them says, a man with a long braid. "Third floor, east w-- no, no, he's here! Third floor! What are you talking about?"

There are communicators in their ears, attached to the visors they wear. McCree can't hear what they can, and he hardly cares about the commotion on the other end, but he knows this is his only chance to get away -- he has to shoot while they're distracted.

"What do you mean, another--" **_Bang_** **.**  The man drops to the floor, deep red spreading across his pristine white uniform. The other three move half a second too late -- **_bang bang bang_** \-- and they drop too.

McCree takes a deep breath to calm himself, strides forward, and kneels down. He reaches out to Braid and takes his earpiece out to put it in his own ear, just as the elevator doors  _ swoosh _ open.

_ "West stairwell, just left the seventh floor! Headed down!" _

"Seventh floor, huh?" McCree mumbles to himself. He hits a button at random, making sure he doesn’t hit  _ 7 _ , then tosses the earpiece back out the elevator. No need to risk being tracked. "Guess I'm not goin' there."

 

\-----

 

The tenth floor is no better than the third.  
  
He's greeted by five Architechs staring at him, each of their mouths agape. It would be comical if he didn’t know this was bad news. But he’s here now, stuck in another bad situation, and he deal with it the only way he knows how: he grins at them, says a quick "Howdy!" as if it’s perfectly normal for there to be a cowboy in this part of their office, and tries to stroll past.    
  
The bold approach works for all of about two seconds. It only takes that long for one of them to shout into their communicator and for another to reach out to grab him by the serape.

McCree sighs, disappointed, when he feels the resistance of a tug. “Didn’t want to cause anymore trouble,” he mumbles, “But it looks like I’m gonna have to.” He can hear something revving behind him – he doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but he’s willing to bet it’s another one of those fancy hard-light weapons the other Architechs were clinging to. “Now I dunno if I’ve got as much of a rep out here as I do back home, but I’m willin’ to bet if you knew who I was you wouldn’t be tryin’ so hard to stop me.”

The one that was speaking into into his communicator stops and eyes him warily. Nobody moves yet. McCree knows he has more than enough time to draw Peacekeeper and down these clowns, so he slowly lowers his hand, reaches…

And tosses a flashbang over his shoulder.

The yelps of surprise are immediate. People  _ thud _ to the ground and McCree drops into a crouch, using the confusion he’s created as momentum to duck out from the hand grabbing him. The Architech holding him is caught off-guard as well and stumbles as she tries to regain her grip on him, but he rolls out of the way and gets back up in one swift motion, then bolts down the hallway.   
  
He pulls up the blueprints as he runs, follows the lines and notes until he reaches a block of cubicles. Just past that is the stairwell, which he'll need to get to get away from the mess he's made here. He has a feeling that there's chaos on every floor now, but there might still be a slim chance for him somewhere else to catch a breather and figure out where he's going. 

He debates rushing into the cluttered cubicles to use them as cover, but decides at the last second not to. He doesn't want to risk being seen or held back by any of the workers that might still be in there. The cubicles aren't wall-to-wall, so he has room to go around, but that leaves the small issue of running around in the open. 

… Unless nobody knows he’s running around without cover. 

He knows it's a stupid idea. Stupid and dangerous. But stupid and dangerous is the note in the margins in every play in the Blackwatch book. Besides, McCree doesn't have time to think of another plan; he can hear quick, heavy foot falls around the corner. The Architechs are getting close. So he runs into the first cubicle, shoves everything he can off the desk (there isn't much, and the pristine state of the desk would probably annoy him if he had time to stop and think about it), and fires two shots, one at the wall in front of him and one at the wall beside him. They penetrate, leaving two clean, smoking holes behind. The screams of the employees are just what he needs, and as they crescendo he darts out of the cubicle and makes a break for the stairwell. He can only hope the Architechs following him are dumb enough to try and look for him among the desks. 

He wrenches open the door to the stairwell and throws his back against the wall beside it as it slams shut. McCree pulls out his gun and holds it up, ready for anyone who decides to come barging in after him. But after a few seconds it becomes clear the Architechs have fallen for his ruse, so he takes a deep breath and checks the blueprints again. 

There's movement a few flights of stairs down, and voices. If he had to guess, McCree would probably say about four floors down and getting  further. He stays perfectly still until he hears the voices and footfalls disappear completely, then sets off on his way. 

There are six more floors to this building. The fifteenth has a conference room, and above that is another office, presumably for whoever’s in charge of this crazy place. Those seem like the best places to find answers, so McCree heads up. 

At least, he tries to. The stairs stop at the thirteenth floor. The blueprints show that to go any higher, he'll have to take an elevator from this floor. So, Peacekeeper still at the ready, he cracks the door to the thirteenth floor open and peeks through. 

Four people are standing a few feet from the door, backs turned as they examine a tablet one of them is holding. There's a large square structure in the middle of the room, and a quick look at the blueprints tells McCree that it's a ‘display room.’ He isn't sure what that means, but he's grateful at least for the cover it provides. Noiselessly, he ducks out of the stairwell and behind the corner to wait for whoever these people are to leave.

He gets his wish about thirty seconds later when someone screams from the other end of the room. The four people immediately look up and start running to the source of the commotion, and that's all it takes to get McCree to break into a run.

The elevator he needs is on the west side of the room. The stairwell he came from is south, and the noise is coming from the north. McCree pauses.  _ Was _ coming from the north. Now he hears nothing.

He reaches the corner and pokes his head around it. As soon as he does, something flies towards him and he ducks back, clutching at his hat so it doesn't fall off. He listens hard for noise, but hears nothing. Then, tentatively, he turns his head to see what the Architechs could possibly have fired at him. 

And he gapes.

Instead of some kind of hard light illusion, however, Jesse finds something else. Something familiar, pulsing with faint light. He reaches for it, face lighting up in awe. An arrow. And an arrow like this can only mean one thing. 

“...Jesse?” 

McCree turns around and smiles like he's seeing the sun after a storm. 

“Hanzo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree meets an old friend, and maybe makes a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me wayyy longer to update this than I thought. Hopefully even with starting school soon, it won't take as long for the next few chapters! 
> 
> As always, enjoy. ♥ And Happy New Year!

“What are you doing here?”

The words are spoken with urgency, not an ounce of affection in them. Hanzo is already moving past him, already reaching out to pull McCree along with him. And yeah, he gets that they're currently in the middle of a chase that might turn into a firefight, but McCree can't help the twinge of annoyance that sparks in the back of his mind. “Good to see you again, too,” he grumbles, and is immediately shushed. 

“Now is not the time!” Hanzo snaps. “They will be here any second!”

“They?” McCree asks, and he looks over his shoulder in case whoever ‘they’ are are already on their tail. It's only then that he realizes that Hanzo is taking him in the wrong direction, back toward the elevator that leads to the lower floors. “Wait, Hanzo, I--”

“Hanzo?”

They round a corner and come face to face with an Architech as she closes the door to an office behind her. McCree acts on instinct and points Peacekeeper at her a split second before she raises her weapon, but before he can pull the trigger Hanzo is grabbing his arm and yanking it aside.

“Stop!” he shouts. McCree hesitates, but his eyes never leave the Architech, even as Hanzo addresses her: “Satya, put down your weapon! He is with me.”

Her shoulders untense minutely, but her eyes do not divert from McCree, either. They narrow instead. “I thought you said you were alone.”

“I did! I was,” Hanzo says. He tries to keep his voice steady and calm, but he's still breathing hard and his eyes are still flickering around. “I did not expect to find him here, of all places. Not to mention…”

He pauses and his eyes go wide as he whips his head around to face McCree, the tails of the ribbon in his hair flowing behind him. McCree can practically see the realization as it hits and morphs his expression into an angry glower. “It was _you_ who set off the alarms!”

Still holding his gun, McCree raises his hands up in front of him in an attempt at appeasement. “Wasn't me, I swear! You saw me in Oasis! You know I can get in and out of a place without settin’ off any alarms.” Hanzo still glares at him, but at least he doesn't look as if he's about to deck him now. “Besides, I killed that guy before he could set off--”

“ _Killed?!_ ” The Architech -- Satya? -- raises her weapon again and it _whirrs_ to life with blue light. Hanzo moves between them again, right in the line of fire, without even thinking about it. 

“We do not have time for this,” he says, perhaps a little too hastily. “We need to leave, _now._ ” And, as if on cue, heavy footfalls and loud voices ring out from around the corner. Hanzo grabs McCree by the serape again and drags him bodily down the hallway. He throws a glance over his shoulder at Satya, who frowns in response, but turns away anyhow. She must meet whoever is coming toward them after McCree and Hanzo turn the corner, because over the pounding of their feet Jesse can hear her say, “What did you expect me to do? He had a gun, and in case you have not noticed, there are _corpses_ on the ground.”

He’s kept from eavesdropping further when Hanzo suddenly yanks him aside, into a room in the middle of the floor. It must be the display room, if what McCree can recall of the blueprints is accurate; and sure enough, the room is illuminated by blue light emanating in dancing vertical waves from the center of the room.

Footsteps run past the entrance, muffled by the closed door. Hanzo exhales, eyes closing and shoulders sagging just the slightest bit. He leans against the wall to catch his breath, but McCree walks forward, curious about the display of light.  
  
There’s a hole in the center of the room, and when he looks down, McCree can see that they’re actually on the third floor. The room is obscenely large, and the floor they’re on is really more like a catwalk or a viewing platform, spanning the entire perimeter. The second floor is the same, and from what he can see of the lowest floor of the room, it’s mostly empty. There’s something like a control panel near the east door, but that’s about it.  
  
“Damn bizarre is what this place is,” McCree mutters to himself. He turns to look over his shoulder at Hanzo, who has kicked off from the wall now and is walking toward him to take a look himself. He settles beside McCree, eyes taking in every detail of the lower two floors.  
  
They stand there quietly for a moment. McCree is the first one to break the silence. “So what are you doin’ here, anyway?” he asks.  
  
Hanzo’s eyes move to him for half a second, then return to observing the lower floors. “I could ask you the same thing,” he responds, but (thankfully) forgoes any defensiveness past that and simply answers, “I had… work.”

“Work.” McCree laughs despite knowing this must mean that somebody important is probably lying face-down in a pool of their own blood about now. “Well _that_ ain’t suspicious at all. And the Architech?”  
  
Hanzo quirks an eyebrow. “Do you mean Satya? What about her?”  
  
“Where’d you pick her up? And why’s she helpin’ us? ‘Specially if you were, ah… _working._ She didn’t seem to take too kindly to hearin’ I’d killed one of her coworkers.”  
  
“Ah.” Hanzo looks away uneasily. “She does not… know, exactly... what I was here to do. And speaking of which, I must apologize to you in advance. Your presence here may mean you will be blamed for something I did.”  
  
McCree shrugs. At this point, he hardly cares. “Nothing I ain’t already used to.”  
  
“I see.” Hanzo almost smiles, but then steels himself and looks at McCree seriously. “Very well. I have told you my purpose here. Now I believe it is your turn.”

“Right.” Can’t argue with that, now, can he?  “Well, y’see, it started in Oasis--”  
  
He cuts himself off and turns rapidly, Peacekeeper already trained on the door behind them that had just opened. Satya walks through it, glaring at both of them. “Put that down,” she snaps. Reluctantly, McCree does, but he does not holster the gun. “I am not here to harm you, although perhaps I should for all the trouble you have caused.”  
  
“Then what are you here for?” McCree doesn’t like the tone of her voice, and he still has his suspicions about her, but right now, he’s in the middle of her turf and he figures he should play by her rules. At least for the time being.  
  
“I am simply here to tell you that this floor has cleared. If you are going to leave, now would be the time.” Her disdain is as evident in her voice as it is in the way she frowns at the pair of them, but McCree doesn’t press the point. Even though she’s rather rude about her dismissal, she’s right, and she’s been surprisingly helpful in spite of everything that’s gone on.  
  
“Got it. Thanks,” he says, then, hesitantly, transfers Peacekeeper to his left hand and extends his right. “By the way, never got to properly introduce myself. Jesse McCree.”  
  
She’s still frowning, nose wrinkled as she looks down at his gloved hand, stained and smeared with blood. She doesn’t take it. “Symmetra. ...Satya Vaswani.”

He isn’t offended when she doesn’t take his hand, but he does retract it awkwardly. “Well, pleasure to meet you, Satya.”  
  
She looks down her nose at him. “Symmetra is fine.”  
  
Hanzo pretends to cough to cover his snicker as Symmetra turns away and leaves the room. McCree sighs and turns to him after the door closes. “Nice friend you got there. I can see why the two of you get along.”

“And what is that supposed to--”  
  
Hanzo is cut off by the sound of a door sliding open below them. People are speaking as they file into the display room. On instinct, both men duck down and crouch, trying to keep themselves as hidden as possible behind the rail bordering the catwalks. If any of the people below were to look up, they’d be spotted in an instant. But they seem to be quite involved in their conversation, which echoes in the vast space of the room and carries up to Hanzo and McCree on the third floor.  
  
“My apologies for making you wait,” one of the voices says. Male, Indian accent. “There seems to have been… an incident. But I assure you, we have it all under control. And there are more pressing matters to attend to, as I’m sure you know.”  
  
As he finishes speaking, four people step up to the control panel. One man in Vishkar white, a woman with neon strips glowing along the side of her head, a tall redhead, and…  
  
“Shit,” McCree whispers, at the same time Hanzo sucks a breath in through his teeth. Chills run through him. “What the hell is Reaper doing here?” 

Reaper’s presence simultaneously excites him and fills him with dread. This was the sign of Talon activity he had been looking for, but this also means that if they’re discovered, he and Hanzo are dead men walking.

Or worse.  
  
“We have to leave,” Hanzo whispers, but he doesn’t move. McCree can see Hanzo studying him, frowning and scowling, in the corner of his vision, but he’s more intent on watching and listening to whatever’s going on below them. “McCree--”  
  
“Shh.” He waves his hand at Hanzo as the glowing woman begins to speak.  
  
“Right. Look, it’s not that I don’t love being invited to party with the _cool kids_ , but what exactly am I doing here again?”  
  
“I find myself wondering the same thing,” the redhead says, and McCree immediately recognizes the smooth drawl, the Irish accent. “I appreciate the invitation, Sanjay, but as you know, I have more important work to attend to. So, if you don’t mind hurrying this up…”  
  
“Of course, Moira,” Sanjay answers. “I would hate to keep you from your work, but this will affect you as well, once it is complete. And you, Sombra, are integral to the plan.”  
  
“Is that so?” She sounds bored.  
  
“Yes.” Sanjay presses some buttons on the control panel and the waves of light begin to sway and morph into shapes, simple at first, and growing more detailed by the second. Soon, an entire city is laid out before them, woven in thin lines of blue light. Sanjay waves his hand and the city spins; he pinches his fingers and buildings are highlighted and zoomed in on.  
  
“That is Numbani,” Hanzo mumbles to himself. McCree raises an eyebrow. He’s only seen Numbani in pictures, but now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Hanzo is right. That’s clearly the place they’re looking at.  
  
“You been?” McCree asks.  
  
“Once. It was not a pleasant trip.” He does not elaborate, and indeed, his eyes don’t even leave the display. McCree looks back at it, too, and the display stops moving, settling a building labelled _Heritage Museum._  
  
“Since our last effort to retrieve the gauntlet failed, it is being moved to an exhibit in Numbani. As far as I know, our friend has plans to reclaim it himself, but there is the matter of freeing him, first.”  
  
McCree leans forward. Does he mean Doomfist’s gauntlet? The one Winston and Tracer had managed to keep out of Talon’s clutches months ago? Below, Reaper interrupts both Sanjay’s speech and McCree’s train of thought with an irritated sigh. “Get to the point.”  
  
“This is where we will need Sombra,” Sanjay explains. “She will help to lower the defenses of the Helix facility Akande is being held in, while you, Reaper…”  
  
“I fly in, bypass the security scans, pick him up and kill anyone who gets in my way.” The way Reaper’s voice lifts at the end of the sentence chills McCree to the bone. He’s _relishing_ the idea of killing.  
  
“Exactly.” Sanjay continues, unperturbed. He begins to delve into the details of the plan, but McCree stops paying attention when movement catches his eye. Sombra steps back, tilts her head up. “Shit,” he hisses, and he tries to make himself look smaller, but Sombra’s eyes don’t seem to linger. She steps back a bit and waves her fingers a little, bringing up what looks to be a purple screen in front of her. The text on it is too difficult to read from this distance, but she’s clearly writing something. When she finishes, she flicks her wrist and the screen disappears. She folds her arms in front of her chest and leans over to her right to mumble something to Reaper. He inclines his head. The mask covers any possible verbal response he might have given, but Sombra leans back, apparently satisfied, while Reaper turns around and begins to walk away.  
  
“And where are you going?” Sombra asks, completely disregarding the fact that Sanjay is still speaking. McCree’s eyes narrow. She had just been speaking to him. Shouldn’t she know where he was going, why he was leaving…?  
  
Reaper does not pause, does not even turn around as he answers, “The part of this that concerns me is over. If we want to get this done, I have some preparations to make.”  
  
“Very well,” Sanjay says, stopping his speech just to address Reaper. “I think we are nearly finished here, anyhow.” The door opens and shuts before he finishes speaking. “If there are any questions about…”  
  
The sound of another door opening and closing sounds out. McCree startles and puts a hand on Hanzo’s arm, and the two of them begin to shuffle backward: the sound came from right below them, most likely from the second floor. Which means--  
  
“Sanjay, the files you were asking for…”  
  
Satya. Her heels stop clicking as she approaches the rail. “Am I… interrupting something?”  
  
Two surprised faces turn up to the second floor, and then immediately up higher, to where McCree and Hanzo crouch. Only Sombra seems unaffected by the fact that not just one person, but three people are intruding upon what was clearly meant to be a private meeting. In fact, she seems almost excited. “Oh, this is too good,” she says, and reaches for something on her back. “I was wondering when something interesting would happen. I’ve got the girl!”  
  
“You do _not_!” Sanjay shouts, but he’s too late. Sombra pulls the something she had been reaching for off her back and throws it, lobbing it in an arc up to the second floor. She disappears in the blink of an eye, and in the same instant, Moira disappears as well. “Sombra, you are not to harm her! She is…”  
  
But the rest of what he says is lost. Limited though his vision of the lower floors was, McCree’s line of sight is suddenly blocked by a dark blur, and he’s knocked to the ground. His head spins for a second, but when the world stills again, he looks up into the thin, smirking face of Moira O’Deorain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	3. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends and new friends clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took... way longer to come out than I wanted it to. I've been swamped with schoolwork lately. I'm sorry for making you all wait, so I hope this chapter makes up for it!
> 
> Looking at 1-2 more chapters depending on whether or not i decide to bump the rating up to E (winky face), and then an epilogue, I think. We're almost there!

“Hello, McCree. It’s been a while.”  
  
In the blink of an eye, Moira is gone, and not a second too soon: an arrow flies through the air where her head had just been. He looks over and sees that Hanzo is on his feet again in an instant, reaching behind himself to pluck arrows from his quiver. Two rest between his fingers while a third is nocked and strung, ready to fly when Moira reappears.

McCree gets to his feet too, as quickly as he can, but ducks again immediately after when that arrow zooms toward him. He doesn't need to ask; Moira pivots beside him, just narrowly avoiding it embedding in her eye. She glances at Hanzo out of the corner of her eye and, with a flourish, pulls back the sleeve of her lab coat. She bends her wrist and curls her fingers toward him. “Quite the friend you seem to have picked up,” she says, lips curling. “But I’m always happy to have another test subject.” 

Her fingers twitch, and suddenly Hanzo jolts and tenses, gasping in pain. McCree can only guess at what Moira must be doing to him. She rarely fought on the field when she was in Blackwatch, but knowing the kind of things she would do to herself just to test a theory...  
  
“Get away from her!” he shouts. Hanzo grits his teeth to try and hide the pain, but he still somehow manages to glare at McCree through it. He does as he’s told, though, and runs backward, keeping his bow trained on her. His arm trembles.

“Now, now, McCree,” Moira coos, right next to his ear. The long nails of her left hand (not as long as the claws of the other) scrape against his neck -- a threat, but of what, he doesn’t know. “How are we going to learn anything if we don’t test it out? Unless you would rather I test on you, of course.”  
  
“Always did want to get your hands on me, didn’t you? Fine specimen of a man that I am,” he snarls. Keep her talking. Stall her out. Lull her.

Hanzo falls to his knees, gasping for breath when Moira breaks the connection. Her hand hovers in front of McCree’s face, and he gets a good look at it. It looks… dead, or at least as close to it as she could get without actually destroying it. Still, the decay is apparent in the unnatural paleness of her hand, how shriveled and gnarled it is. It takes on the colour of the wires -- are they wires? -- stuck in it more than anything else. He doesn’t want to know what she did to manage that, and he _really_ doesn’t want to know what it feels like on the other end.

“Speaking of which,” she starts, unknowingly interrupting McCree’s thoughts, “When did you lose your arm?”

She switches hands, so the withered one is at his neck. The nails of her left hand drag down his metal arm, then back up, all the way to the elbow. Her fingers slip beneath his sleeve to feel the scarred seam between flesh and metal. “I assume it was Angela who removed it for you? Pity. If you had come to me, we might have been able to salvage it. Made it better. Don’t you--” She cuts herself off in a gasp as McCree lurches to the side and shoots at the floor. Moira stumbles back, and that’s when Hanzo takes his chance: he shoots two arrows, one after the other, into each of Moira’s shoulders while McCree ducks down and rolls out of the way. He comes back up right next to Hanzo and aims his gun at the same spot he aims his bow: between her eyes.  
  
“My arm is just fine the way it is, thank you,” McCree says. Moira stumbles, barely keeping herself upright, but she grins and chuckles softly. McCree grits his teeth and follows her swaying body with his gun. Something isn’t right here. Can’t be, if she’s still laughing. Hanzo must feel the same way; he pulls his bowstring back tighter, but doesn’t shoot. Not yet. So McCree puts words to both their curiosities and asks, “Mind tellin’ me what’s so funny?”  
  
Moira looks up. She looks just about as pale as her withered hand, but the wicked grin on her face makes that seem like nothing. “I was simply thinking about how much I missed your insolence. You never were good at playing nice.”  
  
“Missed?” Hanzo’s voice is so low that McCree can barely hear it, but he's close enough to catch it all the same. His eyes go wide.

“Shut up--!”  
  
“It really is a shame. I’m sure you’ve seen a few of your old friends already, yes? You should come back to us, McCree. They may not welcome you with open arms, but I know someone who’s just _dying_ to see you again.” Moira’s smile is smug, cruel. He wants to shoot her, but he can’t, not yet, not until he’s gotten what he needs.  
  
“Like hell!” McCree shouts. “Ain’t no way I’m -- what the--” He turns just as the tip of an arrow comes into his field of vision. It points right between his eyes while Hanzo glares at him, lips pulled back in a snarl.  
  
“What is she talking about?!” he demands. “Explain yourself!”  
  
McCree hesitates. Hand shaking, he moves to point Peacekeeper at the archer. “Hold on there, partner. No need for any of that.  Just calm down and we can talk--”  
  
“Quiet!” Hanzo’s arm tenses, drawing the bowstring back further. “How do you know each other?”

McCree swallows. He has two options here: shoot his way out, or talk. Talking means Moira can get away. Talking means confessing his whole sordid history with Blackwatch to Hanzo, which he sure as hell doesn’t have time for. But shooting his way out could get messy. He doesn’t want to attack the assassin, who up until now has been a valuable ally, but Hanzo seems ready to shoot him dead right here and now if he doesn’t talk. He also isn’t sure Moira wouldn’t get away if he started another fight in the midst of this one.  
  
He doesn’t have the time to make a decision; Hanzo does it for him. “Are you working with Talon?”  
  
“No!” he shouts, maybe a little too quickly. It’s a reasonable conclusion to come to given Moira’s words, and McCree knows it, but that doesn’t make it sting any less. “Look, I’ll explain everything. Cross my heart. You just gotta trust me here, okay? I swear I -- _auuurrgghhh!_ ”  
  
His knees buckle and he falls to the floor, clutching his chest. Something feels like it’s sucking at his insides, eating him alive from the inside out. Sweat drips into his eyes as he turns his head to see Moira extending her hand toward him. His eyes flick to Hanzo, and though his vision is blurred from pain and sweat, he can see that the archer no longer has his bow pointed at him. He looks at Moira over his shoulder and begins to raise it again, drawing an arrow back and aiming it at Moira. That’s it, that’s it, they’re gonna get out of here, Hanzo’s gonna make the pain stop…  
  
Except he doesn’t. A streak of purple light flies over the archer, and in its wake a body appears, legs extended, elbows tucked in as it drops toward Hanzo. McCree doesn’t see the moment of impact, but he hears it, and he watches helplessly as Hanzo crumple to the ground. He reaches out weakly, determined to see if Hanzo is okay, but the figure steps over the archer’s prone body and kicks McCree’s hand aside.  
  
“Making friends?” the figure asks. He knows that voice. He just heard it a minute ago. Sombra? Was that her name? He can hardly remember. He can hardly _think_. He can just hear her laugh. “Much as I’d love to stay and chat, we’ve got places to be and people to see.” She raises her foot above his head. “Buenas noches, McCree.”  
  
Everything goes dark.

  
  
\------

 

“McCree.”  


He rouses slowly and painfully.

“McCree.”

Everything in him is stiff and sore. He’s probably been lying here for hours.

“McCree!”

Where is here again?  
  
“Wake up!”  
  
He knows that voice. Sort of. It’s a woman, he knows that. She doesn’t sound happy. He groans as she taps his shoulder. When she clicks her tongue impatiently, he suddenly knows exactly who it is and what’s going on. McCree’s eyes snap open and he jerks back, away from Satya as if she had shocked him. “Symmetra! What’s--?”  
  
“Shh.” She presses a finger to her mouth -- the index finger of her real hand, not the mechanical one. There’s a small smear of blood on it. Probably his, but he can’t be concerned with that right now, so he nods and looks around.

“Where’s Hanzo?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice low. Symmetra points to a spot behind him; Hanzo is propped up against the wall, out cold. McCree turns around, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles and the dull thumping in his skull.  
  
“He is fine,” Satya tells him just before he can ask. “He woke up first.”  
  
“He’s out cold,” McCree says.

“I am not,” Hanzo murmurs.  
  
“Oh.” He looks at Satya and she shrugs. He feels a little bit better seeing she’s just as uncomfortable with this whole situation as he is.

Hanzo stirs and pushes himself to his feet slowly, groaning as he does. Again, McCree is glad he’s not the only one suffering right now.  
  
He gets up as well, and Satya follows. “Reckon it’s time we got movin’, then,” he says, even though all he wants to do is lie back down and take a nap. “Don’t suppose you got a way out for us?”

Hanzo watches Satya as she smiles. “I do, in fact.”

 

\------

 

Satya guides them through the stairwells nearly silently. There’s an intense look of concentration on her face as she descends the stairs. McCree wonders if she knows how to not be serious all the time, but right now, he isn’t exactly in a place to judge. A lot has happened, and even though he knows he’s gotten what he was looking for, he hadn’t realized how unprepared he was for what it would mean.

They all have a lot to think about, he supposes. He chances a glance at Hanzo, who is determinedly looking ahead of himself. He sighs. He’ll have to deal with that now, too. One more thing he hadn’t been prepared for.

A small hard-light sign next to a door they pass tells them they’ve just reached the ninth floor. There are cameras in the corners, but neither Satya nor Hanzo seems to be concerned. “They off?” he asks.

“Hm?” Symmetra doesn’t even bat an eye.  
  
“The cameras.”

“Ah. Yes. As far as Vishkar is concerned, we are in a state of emergency. Everything has been shut down.”

Hanzo finally looks at them. Except for the slight crease between his eyes, his expression is nigh-unreadable. “But that don’t make sense,” McCree says. “You’d think if there was an emergency goin’ down, like a break-in, all the security cams’d be on.”

Symmetra’s jaw clenches. Hanzo scowls at her. “Your friend?”

She ignores him. “I have been assured that all the security cameras in this stairwell have been turned off. If you would rather not have safe passage, you are welcome to leave on your own.”  
  
McCree doesn’t like the sound of that, but he can’t argue with a safe way out. Symmetra hasn’t lead them wrong so far. “If you say so.”  
  
The rest of the descent down the stairs is completely silent but for the sound of their footsteps on the stairs. McCree aches even more when they reach the bottom. Symmetra and Hanzo both look as if they’re trying to look unaffected, but McCree can see the lines under their eyes. It’s been a long day.

They leave the building through a back door. Symmetra goes first to check that the coast is clear, and they follow as soon as she gives them the okay. They stop just outside the door, looking around awkwardly at anything that isn’t each other. McCree decides he’s going to have to be the one to break the silence, even though he would rather have peace and quiet so he can think back on everything that just happened. He pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights up, savoring the feeling of smoke filling him up at last.  
  
“Looks like this is goodbye,” he says. Symmetra, who had been staring at a spot on the wall, and Hanzo, absentmindedly reaching behind himself to run his fingers along the nocks of his remaining arrows, both snap their gazes to him when he speaks.  
  
“I suppose so,” Symmetra says, at the same time Hanzo says, “Excuse me?!”

McCree shrugs and takes a drag of his cigar, blowing the smoke out the corner of his mouth. “Mission’s done. Did what we came to do, and now it’s time to go home.”  
  
“No, it is not,” Hanzo protests, clenching his fists and marching right into McCree’s personal space. He looks murderous, and McCree knows he should be scared, but he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his throat. “You owe me an explanation, Jesse McCree.”  
  
“Right,” McCree says, still smiling. He rolls his eyes and looks at Symmetra out of the corner of them. “Was kinda hopin’ you’d forgotten about that bit, if I’m bein’ honest--”

“Not at all,” he says. “Personal code be damned, if I find out you have been lying to me this whole time, I _will_ kill you and collect on your bounty.”  
  
He holds his hands up and flicks the ash off the end of his cigar. “No need for that, now. A promise is a promise--”  
  
“Even if you were planning to renege on it?”  
  
“--and I’m gonna keep it. Happy?”  
  
Hanzo steps back and folds his arms in front of his chest. He grunts. McCree takes that as a yes.

Symmetra clears her throat. Hanzo and McCree both look over at her. Jesse had almost forgotten she was there.  
  
“If that is all,” she says, “then I must be going.”  
  
“Wait, Satya,” McCree says, and she gives him an icy look. “Symmetra, I mean. You saw what went down in there, right? You sure you’re okay with workin’ for a company that’s got ties like that?”  
  
“You mean Talon.”

“Yeah.”

She averts her eyes. “...No. I am not.”  
  
“But…?”  
  
“But there are things I must tend to. It will not be so simple to leave, as I am sure you realize.”

“What will you do?” McCree asks.  
  
“...Your friend,” Hanzo mumbles.  
  
He does not elaborate, and neither does Satya. “Yes. For now, I will trust them. They are the one that showed me the truth about Vishkar. Until I can repay that debt, I will do what I can here.”  
  
McCree nods and stubs his cigar out on the back of his hand. He puts the stub in his pocket, and Symmetra gives him an approving brow raise that he almost misses. “Alright. If you need anythin’... Suppose I owe you a debt now too.”  
  
“As do I,” Hanzo adds.  
  
“And if there’s anything you find out about Talon… Hope you’ll keep me in mind.”  
  
Satya smiles and exhales slowly. “Yes. I can agree to collaborate with you on this matter.”  
  
McCree returns her smile and extends his hand again, this time removing his glove. After a second of hesitation, Satya takes it. When they pull apart, she wipes it off on a handkerchief in her uniform pocket and folds it meticulously before putting it back. McCree laughs. “It’s a start,” he says. He looks at Hanzo, who is also grinning. “Well then. Shall we?”  
  
Hanzo nods. They walk off together, leaving Satya to watch them as they retreat into the night.


	4. Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo finally gets a long-awaited explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to get to this bit for ages. I hope it's fulfilling for you guys to read as it was for me to write.

They walk in tense silence. Hanzo looks ahead of himself as he walks, eyes darting back and forth as if memorizing his surroundings. If his eyes wander to McCree at all, it’s only when McCree looks away. Part of him is disappointed, but the rest of him knows he'd be doing the same thing if the tables were turned. He's in unfamiliar land and being lead along to an unknown location. It's no surprise that Hanzo's arms are tense, ready to reach for an arrow at a moments notice. 

“You can relax, you know,” McCree tells him, though he know it won't do either of them any good. “I ain't about to try anythin’. You can even take my gun from me if you want.”

Hanzo looks at him at last, one eyebrow raised doubtfully. “What would be the point in that?” he asks. “I have seen you fight. If you wanted it back, you would simply have to take it. I am not nearly as skilled with firearms as you are. If we were to fight over your gun, I would not be guaranteed victory.”

“... Oh.” He doesn't know what else to say. A blush spreads over his face, and thankfully Hanzo has the grace to look away (or maybe he's just become bored with the conversation). McCree doesn't want to admit he doesn't know how to take the unexpected compliment, especially since he isn't sure he'd be able to take Hanzo down at all, gun or no.  

... Well. It's lucky they won't have to find out. 

They round a corner and turn into an alley. At the end of it, a grey door embedded in a nondescript white wall stares back at them. Hanzo pauses and looks to McCree, questioning him, while McCree just continues forward. He stops in front of the door and examines the cracked screen of the security panel on it. 

“Does that even still work?” Hanzo asks, suddenly next to him. It’s all McCree can do to keep himself from jumping. 

“Do you always walk without making a sound?” He shoots back, a little more pathetically than he would have liked. 

Hanzo laughs. McCree can  _ hear _ the smug grin in it. He chooses to ignore it. Instead, he takes off the glove on his right hand presses the buttons on the panel in sequence: 1 2 3 4 5.

“Are you serious,” Hanzo deadpans. McCree grins and hits  _ ENTER _ on the panel. 

“It ain’t about the code,” he says, waving his hand and wiggling his fingers in front of Hanzo. The door opens and he puts his glove back on before striding inside. Hanzo follows silently. 

As soon as they get in, McCree heads over to the dusty old couch and slumps down in it. It’s hard as a rock, but furnishing safehouses had never been much of a concern for Blackwatch. There’s something comforting about it. It’s familiar. 

He pats the spot next to him. “Come on, siddown. Warning you now that it ain’t comfy, but it’s better than standin’ on your feet all night.” 

Hanzo looks around the room. It’s spartan in terms of furnishing - the couch, a table, a few chairs, and a tiny kitchenette - but it’s cozy enough. There are a few doors along the walls, all but one of them closed, each with a security panel to its right. McCree would call them bedrooms, but that might be too generous. They were more like bunks. 

Seemingly deeming everything satisfactory enough, Hanzo puts his bow down gingerly on the table, sets his quiver beside it, and joins McCree on the couch. He scowls as he sits. 

“Told ya,” McCree says. 

Hanzo adjusts, and an expectant silence falls between them. McCree isn’t sure how to start. Hanzo doesn’t seem to want to ask. He watches McCree from down his nose, simply waiting for the explanation he knows he’s owed. 

McCree swipes his hat off his head and tosses it onto the table in front of them. It lands just on top of Hanzo’s bow, a small puff of dust rising in its wake. “So,” he starts. “Talon.” 

Hanzo lifts his chin just the slightest bit. His full attention is on McCree now. Even so, knowing he should continue, McCree can’t help but notice Hanzo’s perfect posture. How rigid and tense he is. He must be exhausted. Or maybe nervous. He wants to rub his shoulders, ease the tension away.

Hanzo snaps him out of his thoughts. “Talon,” he repeats.

“Right.” 

“You insist you are not a part of them. And yet that woman…” 

“Moira O’Deorain.” 

Hanzo’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “The Minister of Genetics at Oasis?” 

“The very same.” 

Hanzo blinks, clearly taken aback, but he presses on in spite of it: “You are familiar with her.” 

McCree looks down at his lap. “Yes.” 

“She asked you to go back to her. To your ‘old friends.’” 

“That she did.” 

Hanzo grits his teeth and clenches his fists. McCree braces himself for a blow he hopes will never come. “What did she mean?” 

Another sigh, and McCree runs a hand through his hair. His fingers and his lungs itch for a cigar, but he knows now is not a good time for a smoke. “She weren’t always a part of Talon. Or maybe she was. Never did trust her worth a damn.” He closes his eyes. Moira, working with Talon all along. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least. “Don’t matter much now, I guess. But I worked with her for a bit. But not for Talon. Naw... I was never with them. I worked for the other guy.” 

“The other…” Hanzo’s knitted brows relax and rise as realization dawns on him. “Overwatch?” 

“Yeah,” McCree says. “Well, Blackwatch, but--” 

“Wait.” Hanzo holds up a hand to silence McCree, then unhooks the bottle on his belt. He opens it up and takes a very generous gulp of whatever is inside it, then caps it again and places it on the table. When he speaks again, McCree catches the faintest whiff of alcohol on his breath. “Overwatch has caused me nothing but trouble.” 

McCree swallows a laugh, but the twisting of his lips gives away his feelings regardless. “You don’t say.” 

Hanzo ignores McCree’s amusement. “My apologies. But to think this whole time you were with Overwatch… no wonder you are a never-ending source of trouble for me.” 

“Hey now, that ain’t fair.” McCree pouts. “And I wasn’t really part of Overwatch proper, anyway. They didn’t want a criminal like me in the public eye. But someone saw somethin’ in me, and decided to bring me into the loop and keep me outta prison. Nah, Overwatch wasn’t for me. I was Blackwatch.” 

Hanzo immediately reaches for the sake again and downs another gulp of it. “Even worse.” 

It stung a little it, but McCree couldn’t really begrudge Hanzo that. Blackwatch  _ had _ caused a lot of trouble in Japan back in the day, even if Hanzo had fled the Shimada before the worst of it. Their carelessness in taking care of the Shimada had been a large part of their downfall, after all. Or rather, Genji’s was.

If he closed his eyes, sometimes he could still see it. He could still see Genji standing there, blade dripping with the blood of his relatives. The red footprints his robotic feet left behind as he stalked through the halls. The way the bodies fell in heaps around him. The way he had screamed when he found out his brother was not there. 

He pushes the thought away. “You might be right about that. There was a lot of fightin’ toward the end. Or so I hear, anyway. I left before things came to a head.” That was the last thing he could remember of Blackwatch: whispers and rumours and agitation everywhere he had turned. Tempers flaring. Reyes and Morrison fighting. Genji growing increasingly more restless with every passing day. 

Ana dying.

He reaches for the sake on the table, but pauses before he can get a hand on it. “You mind?” he asks. Hanzo shakes his head no. McCree takes it and drinks. 

“Sake, huh?” he mumbles as he studies the gourd. “Not too bad. You always keep it on you like this? Even when you fight?” 

Hanzo shrugs one shoulder. “You have your vices. I have mine.” 

“Mm.” He takes another swig. “Guess we have more in common than I thought.” 

“Indeed.”

There’s a pause of silence while he places the sake down on the table and contemplates what else to say. Hanzo, to his credit, waits patiently, hands on his knees. 

McCree hums. Speaking of vices, he finally takes the stubbed-out cigar from earlier out of his pocket and lights up. “Most of the fightin’ was after Blackwatch got suspended. Only some of us got asked to stay on and join the strike teams proper,” he explained. “People weren’t happy ‘bout being left to rot, I reckon. Lots of talk about how some of us were gonna feed our families and whatnot. Like I said, I left before most of this shit went down, so my guess is a bunch of ‘em defected and went with the bigger paycheck. Or were recruited by whatever moles were already there. Result’s the same either way, ain’t it? Who else would want to take on a buncha ragtag criminals and black ops rejects?” 

He puts the cigar between his lips and takes a long pull of it. Hanzo tilts his head to the side, brows furrowed in thought. “So you left and went underground rather than join Talon. You returned to America to hunt bounties instead.”

“Didn’t know Talon was an option at the time, but yeah, that’s the gist of it. Even if I’d known, I would’ve left. Maybe tried to put a stop to it before it started, but…” He shakes his head, exhales a cloud of smoke. No point dwelling on the would-haves and could-haves of the situation. What was done was done. 

“That does not make sense,” Hanzo says, interrupting his thoughts once more. “If you were not a part of Talon, how were you able to access their information?” 

McCree laughs, full and loud, and slaps his knee.. “Now that’s the kicker! Nobody changed the access codes, that’s why!” He grins and shakes his head as he takes one more drag on his cigar. This time, he blows the smoke out in rings. “Either someone out there is dumber than a sack o’ dirt, or I got some kinda guardian angel lookin’ out for me on the other side. Either way, I’m one lucky son of a gun, don’tcha think?” 

Hanzo smiles despite the exasperated sigh that explodes from his throat. “You are unbelievable.” 

“That’s what they call me, sugar.” 

“Ridiculous!” Hanzo bats at McCree’s arm, more playfully than angrily. “You are not concerned at all that this ‘guardian angel’ of yours could be leading you into a trap?”

Just as playfully, McCree leans back, holding up an arm to protect himself. “Aw, sugar, you worried about me?” 

“Not at all!” Hanzo doesn’t even hesitate, but the laughter makes it worth it. He pushes further, hands batting at McCree’s arm every time he lifts it to block a hit. He tries to grab them then, and practically climbs on top of McCree in the process. They’re remarkably close. 

It’s friendly, though. Fun. 

“I am merely amazed at how trusting you are, given the enormous bounty on your head!” Hanzo snaps, still grinning. “People try to kill you wherever you go, and you are willing to simply walk into their arms?”

“Gimme some credit!” McCree protests around the cigar now clenched between his teeth. Hanzo plucks it from his mouth and holds it just out of reach. “It ain’t about bein’ trustin’!” 

With a sudden rush, McCree lurches forward, pushes Hanzo off him, and pulls his wrist free of the archer’s firm grip. He pushes Hanzo down onto the couch, pinning him in place beneath him. “It’s about knowin’ I can take on whoever lays the trap.”  

The surprise on Hanzo’s face only lasts a split second before it melts into something sultry and smooth. “You think you can take me?”

“Already have, if memory serves.” 

Hanzo looks up at him, lips parted in awe for half a moment before he purses them, trying to hold back the raucous laughter that bursts out of him. McCree climbs off him, asking “What? What’s so funny?” but getting no response. Hanzo is too far gone, lying flat on his back with one hand over his stomach and the other flung over his eyes. His face is turning red, though McCree can’t tell if it’s from lack of oxygen or if he’s actually having a good time. Maybe it’s a little bit of both, and that thought alone is enough to make him laugh, too.

Eventually, their laughter dies down, and Hanzo hands him back the cigar he was still holding.  McCree takes a second to catch his breath, letting the last lingering coughs of laughter force themselves out, and takes a long, grateful drag of it. The smoke works wonders to calm him down, and soon it’s like nothing had ever happened between them. The silence is once again companionable. Almost warm. 

“You,” Hanzo says, “Are a very strange man, Jesse McCree.” 

“Guilty as charged,” he answers. “For once.” 

Quiet washes over them again while McCree smokes and Hanzo picks up his bow. He checks the tension on the string and examines the curve of his weapon for wear and tear while McCree watches him, watches his hands, how they slide over the bow carefully, almost not touching it at first.  On a second run they press down and stop to rub at anything that may be out of order - dirt, a scratch, whatever. McCree can’t tell what it is Hanzo is feeling out. He doesn’t particularly care, either. He’s more fascinated with the process, the movement. 

“Do you miss it?” Hanzo asks suddenly, quietly. 

“What, Blackwatch?”

“Mm.” 

McCree blows a stream of smoke upward, tearing his eyes away from the archer. “Yeah. Sure. Loads of times. It was like family, y’know? But everythin’s gotta come to an end, I guess. Even family.”  

He feels Hanzo tense next to him, but doesn't dare look at him. It feels like he’s stepped over a boundary between them, and he waits for the defensive assault. 

It never comes. “I see.” 

McCree takes one last puff of his cigar and stubs it out on the table. He stands up and dusts himself off. “It’s gettin’ late. We should probably hit the hay.” 

“Mm.” Hanzo stands too. McCree rolls his shoulders and points to the one open door along the wall.

“That’s the room I’ve been usin’. Only one my code could open.” He wiggles his fingers. “You’re welcome to it. I’ll take the couch.” 

Hanzo looks from McCree to the bedroom and back again, expression cold. “Nonsense.”     
  
“Hm?” 

Hanzo sighs and steps closer to McCree, gripping McCree by the serape with one hand. “You are really going to do this again?”

“What d’you mean?” 

Hanzo shakes his head. He tugs McCree down closer to him, enough that they can look each other directly in the eye. “You said it yourself. This couch is hard as a rock. Your attempts at chivalry are ridiculous.” Hanzo smirks and lets him go before taking a step back toward the room. “It is not as if this would be the first time we shared a bed.” 

“Oh.” McCree straightens up, jaw hanging slack as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He hadn’t exactly thought of it like that. “Guess it wouldn’t be, would it?” 

“No.” Hanzo takes another few steps back and extends his hand, crooking two fingers to beckon McCree to him. 

Jesse grins. Like a dog on a leash, he follows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, yes, for those of you who were hoping for it: next chapter the rating will go up from M to E. For those of you who aren't interested in any explicit scenes, it will be completely skippable. Nothing super story- or plot-related will happen. Thank you for bearing with me!


	5. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree and Hanzo go to bed and try to sleep. (Sort of.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the long-awaited smut chapter. Sorry it took so long everyone! Life has been mad busy as of late. I promise, none of you are as bummed about how long this took as I am.
> 
> This chapter is skippable if you're not into the smut. :)

It doesn't take them long to settle in. McCree feels his exhaustion catch up with him once more as he steps over the threshold to the bedroom, and he wastes no time in shrugging off his serape, shedding his chest plate, and stripping himself of his shirt and pants.

He tosses it all aside, stretches, and glances over at Hanzo, who has untied his hair and now cards his hands through it to ease out the kinks. His eyes are downcast and unfocused, and it makes McCree wonder what he could possibly be thinking of. But Hanzo soon blinks and seems to come alive again, untying his obi and slipping off his gi. He looks over to McCree as it falls to the ground, looking the cowboy up and down. There's a question in his eyes, but he does not speak it; he merely hums to himself and removes his boots and hakama. When everything is off but his underwear, Hanzo scoops up his discarded clothing and folds it carefully before tucking it away to the corner of the room.

McCree allows himself a moment to watch as Hanzo moves about, bending over to pick up and place his clothes down. It makes him feel a little bit self-conscious about how he’s just left his clothes on the ground wherever they’ve landed, so he picks them up and drops them at the side of the room. He doesn’t bother to fold them or pile them up neatly, but at least they’re out of the way. It’s almost funny, seeing his mess next to Hanzo’s neatly-folded pile.

He snaps his attention away from the clothing when he hears springs creak and cloth rubbing against itself. McCree catches Hanzo just as he lifts and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He lies down, stretching -- in McCree’s exhausted, but still somewhat-horny opinion -- sinfully, putting himself on display for an unfortunately short moment before pulling the covers up over himself.

Hanzo notices him staring and quirks an eyebrow at him. The corners of his mouth just barely twitch upward. “Were you planning to join me or not?”

McCree takes a deep breath. There’s no way he’s not doing this on purpose.

But he doesn’t fight it, doesn’t point it out. He just nods sleepily and makes his way over to the bed with a long, drawn-out yawn. McCree isn’t totally sure how he managed to hear Hanzo’s half-laugh-half-scoff over the sound of pulling back the bedsheets, but he did, and something about that noise warms the pit of his stomach.

He lays his head on the pillow, closes his eyes. For a moment, he debates whether or not he wants to start something, but he decides he’s too sleepy to. But then he’s faced with another problem: this is not a large bed.

He makes an effort not to let this new inner dilemma show in his body language. McCree doesn’t know if he should face Hanzo, or if he should stay facing away from him. _Should_ they be facing away from each other, or should he sleep on his back or on his stomach so he doesn’t have to think about this at all?  But then he feels Hanzo move next to him, and suddenly he feels the warmth of a body pressed up against his back.

Hanzo lets out a deep, rumbling sigh as he settles in, and somehow it relaxes McCree too. He smiles to himself and moves back a little bit, pressing his back to Hanzo’s chest just as Hanzo wraps an arm around his waist.

“Mm…” McCree shifts to make Hanzo’s hold more comfortable, making sure the other man’s elbow doesn’t dig into his side too much. Once he’s settled, though, it’s nice. Comfortable. Moreso than he’s willing to admit. It strikes him that he’s never really thought about this before -- about sleeping with Hanzo in the most literal sense -- because every time they’ve ended up sharing a bed, it was immediately following sex. They shared it out of exhaustion and necessity, rather than because they really wanted to.

 _But that ain’t really true either_ , McCree thinks. He has never minded sharing beds. He likes the intimacy of it. And he likes Hanzo well enough that he’s… if not eager to share a bed with him, at least open to the idea of it. Open to the idea of intimacy with him rather than just some kind of carnal need or simple convenience, as the case had been in the past.

“You are tense,” Hanzo says, cutting through McCree’s thoughts. His voice is thick and rough. It makes McCree jump; he’d thought the archer was asleep. “Is this… okay?”

McCree turns over just enough that he can twist his neck to see Hanzo. His eyes are open, but his eyelids droop. McCree smiles. He looks the very picture of exhaustion.

“Course it is,” the cowboy says. He turns around again and settles back into the comfortable position they were in before. “Just didn’t take you for a cuddler.”

Hanzo closes his eyes and scoffs, much less powerfully than usual. “I am simply delaying the inevitable. You are… hm.” He stops, stays silent for a few seconds. Then he squeezes McCree tightly and presses himself even more closely to him. “Like that.”  

McCree sputters a little bit. How is Hanzo’s grip so tight when he’s this tired? “’Like that?’”

“Yes. You are… tight.”

“Tight.” McCree doesn’t want to think about the last time Hanzo called him _tight_. This is totally different… right? And he _really_ does not need the mental image of Hanzo hovering over him, an arm on each side of his head. So McCree puts it out of his mind, trying instead to think of what Hanzo could possibly mean right now.

And then it dawns on him. “...You tryin’ to call me clingy?”

Hanzo lets go and laughs, long and breathy. Then, slowly and languorously, he says, “Yes. Clingy. That was the word I was looking for.”

It’s amazing how he can still be so articulate when it sounds like he’s going to pass out any second now. McCree laughs and reaches behind himself to pat Hanzo’s shoulder, but he ends up missing and getting him in the side instead. Hanzo flinches (is he ticklish?), but chuckles softly and settles back into position.

They lie there, still and silent for another few moments. It doesn’t seem like Hanzo has anything else to say, so Jesse closes his eyes and says, “Good night, Hanzo.”

“Good night,” comes the sleepy reply.

And that’s enough to finally get McCree to relax and drift off to sleep.

...Except he can’t.

He tries to empty his mind. Tries to focus on his breathing. Counts the beats of his heart. Counts the beats of Hanzo’s heart, much slower and steadier than his own.

He’s acutely and uncomfortably aware of Hanzo behind him -- the rise and fall of his chest, the arm draped over him, holding him loosely enough to be casual, but intimately enough to be possessive. Or maybe he’s reading too deeply into it. But either way, it doesn’t matter, because the more he thinks about Hanzo and how close he is, the harder it is for him to fall asleep.

McCree notices a little bit too late how heavy his breathing has become. He tries to steady it, just in case Hanzo is still awake. He doesn’t need to disturb the archer’s sleep. But that doesn’t calm him down, not really; and it certainly doesn’t help the hard-on he’s rapidly developing.

He takes a deep breath and bites his lip. He risks twisting his neck around to see if Hanzo is really asleep. His breathing is deep and steady and his eyes are closed, so McCree deems it safe enough. He turns back and closes his eyes, reaches between his legs and takes himself in hand, squeezing himself through his boxers.

He bites back a sigh of relief. It’s better, but not enough, so he strokes himself slowly, trying in equal parts to get himself off and not wake Hanzo up. It’s a lot more difficult than he would have thought, but something in him thrills at the thought of what he’s doing. There’s something exhilarating about this – about doing something he knows he probably shouldn’t be right in front of -- right _against_ \-- the one person he doesn’t want to get caught by.

So he lets the momentum of that sick thrill carry him closer to the edge. He slips his hand into his boxers and grips himself more firmly, thumbing at the tip of his cock --

Hanzo shifts. McCree stops immediately, hand jerking up and out of his shorts like he’d been shocked.

He waits a few seconds, and when Hanzo doesn’t move anymore, he relaxes. His hand drops down to the bed and he debates trying to jack himself off again (his cock gives an excited little twitch at the thought of how close he was to getting caught), but then Hanzo’s arm moves. It runs down along Jesse’s arm, across the smooth skin of his shoulder, down over the scar tissue connecting it to his mechanical arm. He runs the backs of his nails along the embossed skull on his forearm. When he gets to McCree’s hand, he leaves it and moves further, tracing his fingertips along McCree’s hip instead. Then, when McCree feels like he might explode from holding his breath so long, Hanzo slides his hand over the curve of his hip and rests it over his crotch, fingers squeezing Jesse’s cock lightly.

McCree lets out an involuntary breath, then freezes again, tense. He holds his breath and swallows down a groan when Hanzo squeezes him harder.

He feels lips press against his back, between his shoulder blades. A slow, soft, lingering kiss. Another squeeze.

“Hanzo…” Jesse’s voice cracks. He swallows hard, trying to compose himself.  He hears -- _feels_ \-- a low, rumbling chuckle behind him.

“Did you think I would not notice?” he asks. “At least wait until I am asleep.”

“Sorry…” McCree mumbles, even though they both know he’s not really sorry at all.

“It is fine,” Hanzo says. He begins to stroke McCree through his boxers, slow and firm, just the way he likes it. McCree finds himself rolling his hips up into the touch, and when he moves just right, he can feel Hanzo, also hard, pressing up against the cleft of his ass.

“Fine indeed,” McCree jokes. He presses back against Hanzo, grinding his ass into Hanzo’s erection, earning himself a deliciously sharp intake of breath from the other man. It turns out he isn’t nearly as unaffected by this as he was trying to make himself out to be. “You got somethin’ you wanna say?”

“Shut up,” Hanzo snaps, but McCree can hear the smile in his tone. “Do not ruin this, cowboy.”

“Ruin what? The romantic integrity of all this? ‘Cause I gotta say--” But he’s cut off before he can finish his sentence, the hand that had been on his dick now covering his mouth. He raises an eyebrow and twists around just enough that Hanzo can see, but his breath is taken away at the sight he gets instead: Hanzo’s brows are furrowed, eyes closed, bottom lip caught in his teeth. He rolls his hips to meet McCree’s with every thrust backwards. He’s focused, whether on helping Jesse get off (because damn, he did not know dry-grinding like this, with two layers of clothing between them, would ever feel this good) or just getting himself off, it isn’t clear. But McCree doesn’t care; he decides to take the opportunity to help out too, and moves his head to loosen Hanzo’s grip and force a finger into his mouth.

He sucks on it greedily and watches Hanzo’s face for a reaction. And he gets exactly what he wants: Hanzo’s mouth falls open, breath coming out of it in short, heavy bursts. His brows knit further. Clearly, he likes this. Enough, it seems, for him to thrust another finger into Jesse’s mouth unprompted.

McCree moans and sucks harder, grinds back more fervently. Hanzo’s hips jerk and twitch more quickly, too, desperate for more contact. And McCree is, too. He realizes belatedly that his own cock is currently being neglected, and he forces Hanzo’s fingers out of his mouth with a wet _pop_ so he can turn around and face the archer properly.

He thrusts his hips in time with Hanzo’s, and both of them groan simultaneously at the contact. Hanzo’s arms come around McCree and slip beneath his underwear, cupping and groping at his ass. McCree’s head falls forward and he rests his forehead on Hanzo’s shoulder, gasping for air in the wake of the pleasure coursing through him.

He wants more. _Needs_ more. So he runs his hands down Hanzo’s back, nails of his right hand lightly scraping the skin, until he gets to the waistband of Hanzo’s boxers. He tugs, pulling them down enough to expose the archer’s ass, and Hanzo pulls away just long enough to tug them the rest of the way off himself. McCree follows suit immediately, and soon they’re grinding against each other again, skin to skin at last.

It’s finally enough. McCree’s hands roam over Hanzo’s back, his sides, his ass. Hanzo bites at his neck, sucks a mark into it. Jesse groans, and for a moment he loses the rhythm, but Hanzo is right there to pick it back up again. It’s then that Jesse realizes that they haven’t actually kissed yet. Not properly, anyway. So he tangles a hand in Hanzo’s hair and pulls him off, guiding his face upward so he can crush their lips together in a deep, hungry kiss.

It’s messy and desperate, just like everything else they’ve been doing. Their tongues slide together sloppily, and neither one really knows who’s leading whom at this point. All they want is more contact, more of each other. McCree is rapidly approaching his climax, with every thrust and with every touch and every sound. He wonders if Hanzo is, too.

He gets his answer when he reaches down to smack Hanzo’s ass, light enough to be playful, but firm enough to make Hanzo jump. The assassin moans loudly, breaking their kiss and clutching tightly at McCree’s arms. So Jesse does it again, with the same result, and again, and again.

With each smack, Hanzo’s body jerks more erratically, and on the fourth one he feels Hanzo tense against him, cock twitching as he spurts his release between them. McCree is quick to follow when he realizes what’s happening, and he buries his face in the crook of Hanzo’s neck, biting down to muffle his strangled groan.

They lie there for a good few minutes, neither of them moving as they try to catch their breath. Hanzo is the first one to move, bringing a hand up to McCree’s hair and running it through the damp, knotted strands. He seems content enough to just pet him until McCree decides to pull back and lean in for another kiss, just as messy as the last one. This time, however, it’s slow and caring rather than fast and desperate. McCree thinks he likes this better. It feels nice. More intimate. It feels… right.

But that’s a thought he doesn’t want to explore until he’s more awake, so he pushes it aside for the time being. For now, he’s just content to hold Hanzo in his arms and fall asleep.

Again, he is denied that when Hanzo hums and squirms a little bit. “We should really clean ourselves up,” he murmurs, but he makes no move to get up. McCree grunts.

“Too tired. And who cares, anyway? We can get cleaned up in the mornin’.”

“Disgusting,” Hanzo says, but again, he doesn’t move to leave the bed. He just gets closer to McCree and pressed his forehead to the cowboy’s chest. That’s an agreement if he’s ever heard one, so McCree smiles and nuzzles into Hanzo’s hair. He inhales deeply and closes his eyes.

“Good night, Hanzo,” he mumbles. Then, with a chuckle, adds, “For real this time.”

He doesn’t get a response. Or if he does, he doesn’t stay awake long enough to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


	6. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to say goodbye, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah that's right, I finally came back and finished this. And it only took a few months. (School is hard. What of it? >:P)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for being patient with me! It's been a bit of a journey getting this done, and hopefully the wait was worth it. So with that, read on and enjoy!

McCree wakes up to the sound of his stomach growling. He rolls over in bed with a groan, trying to ignore the sound and pressing himself into the closest, warmest, comfiest thing he can find, which just so happens to be Hanzo. But the moment he presses his cheek to Hanzo's chest, he hears another, louder stomach growl, and with only a moment’s delay he realizes that it was _Hanzo's_ stomach that had woken him up, not his own. He stifles a laugh with his metal hand, but it doesn't seem to help; Hanzo must feel the way he's shaking, trying to hold his laughter in, because it isn't even a second later that he says, “Sorry.”

“Don't you worry about it,” McCree says. He pulls himself up so he's face-to-face with Hanzo now. Hanzo smiles at him, just a little sheepishly, and Jesse can't help but reach out and stroke his cheek with his thumb. It's an instinctive response and he regrets it as soon as he feels Hanzo's smooth skin, but to his surprise Hanzo doesn't react. Maybe he's too sleepy.

And yep - there's the yawn. Jesse laughs to himself and sits up, stretching his arms high above his head and rolling his shoulder until it pops. When he looks down again, Hanzo has closed his eyes, possibly on the verge of falling back asleep. McCree laughs through his nose and pokes the other man’s forehead.

“C’mon, get up,” he says, patting Hanzo on the shoulder. “We gotta get you some breakfast.”

Hanzo groans and pulls the sheets up over his head. He mumbles something indistinguishable under the covers and McCree thinks he might have picked out the word ‘breakfast’ in his response, but before he can pull back the covers and ask he feels Hanzo's nose bump up against his thigh.

He decides breakfast can wait.

 

\------

 

They do eat, eventually.

It’s a nice little outing before McCree has to fly back to the States. They stop at a small family-owned restaurant, which at first is difficult because neither Hanzo nor McCree speak much Hindi, but they both know enough to order what they like and dish out more than their fair share of compliments in return.

When the food comes, there's much more than expected. McCree thinks it might even be a bit too much. He’s always liked Indian food, but knowing he has a flight in a few hours, he really doesn’t want to overeat. Years though it's been, he doesn't always have the best track record on airplane.

Hanzo more than takes care of it, though. It's mostly because of him, but between the two of them they somehow manage to finish everything.

“God _damn_ , you can eat,” McCree says once they leave the restaurant. He looks back and waves to the staff through the window, getting a few smiles in return. “Thought there weren’t gonna be enough koftas left for me once you got through with ‘em.”

Hanzo laughs. “Work is hard to come by sometimes,” he says, with perhaps a touch of melancholy. McCree has a feeling there's a story behind those words, but he doesn't ask. “When it is, meals are often few and far between.”

McCree frowns, wondering what he’s supposed to say to that. He knows the feeling of hunger from lack of work all too well, but…

Thankfully, Hanzo saves him from the need to offer any awkward platitudes. “Though I have always had a strong appetite. My mother used to say it meant I would grow up to be strong.”

And boy, did he _ever._ Those arms alone could probably crush McCree to death and he’d still say thank you. “She was right. That kinda physique? I ain’t surprised you gotta eat so much to keep it up.”

Hanzo barks a dismissive laugh, but he turns his head to hide the light flush on his cheeks. His grin is not so easily hidden, however. He’s clearly quite proud of himself.

“You sell yourself short,” Hanzo says. He looks McCree up and down out of the corner of his eye and licks his lips. _Subtle_. McCree rolls his eyes.

“Please. I never said I didn’t know I was a fine piece of meat,” he says. “The way you keep lookin’ at me, how could I ever doubt it?”

Flirtatious as the intention was behind his words, they're still enough to cow Hanzo a little bit. He looks away again, this time legitimately flustered. McCree can’t help but laugh. For a ninja, Hanzo’s surprisingly terrible at keeping his feelings concealed. McCree wonders if he knows just how expressive he is.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” He reaches out and touches Hanzo’s cheek with the back of his gloved hand. “I like the attention. It’s not often I get my ego stroked so much.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Hanzo says, and although the words might hint at sarcasm, his tone is completely sincere. This time it’s McCree’s turn to blush and look away, scratching absent-mindedly at his beard with one finger.

“...Guess I just don’t get out much,” he says, and leaves it at that. He hadn't really thought about it much before that night in the bar so many months ago, but the last few years have been a pretty lonely time in McCree’s life. No family, no friends to go home to. No Blackwatch. Just lots of wandering.

He doesn't regret his decision, though. Not the one to leave Overwatch and not the one to stay away. That chapter of his life is over. He regrets not being there for the end, maybe, but knows it's for the best that he wasn't.

He can do more on his own.

Hanzo says nothing beside him, staring ahead of himself without really seeing where he’s going. He’s lost in thought just as much as McCree is.

They stay quiet for the rest of their walk. A few more streets and corners are turned in silence, and soon a train station comes into view. It had been their destination all along -- this is where the train to the airport departs from -- but now that he can see it, McCree wishes he had more time here before he had to leave. More time with Hanzo.

He sighs. Hanzo doesn’t look at him. He focuses instead on the station, watching as a train departs in a streak of hard-light cyan. There's a drawn-out moment where McCree wonders what Hanzo could be thinking before the assassin decides to speak.

“Where will you go now?” he asks.

McCree shrugs. “Home, I guess.” He chews the inside of his cheek, wishing he'd thought to light a cigar before now. He won't be able to smoke for a good few hours. “A lot happened last night. I’ve got some stuff I need to think about. People to contact.”

“Overwatch?” Hanzo asks.

McCree nods. “If I can.”

For a moment, Hanzo looks like he wants to say something. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, lips twisting ruefully. McCree eyes him patiently, waiting for him to speak up, but the words never come. So McCree takes the opportunity for him: he laughs and elbows Hanzo in the arm.

“Hey now. None of that,” he says. “Gonna make me cry, here.”

“What are you…” Hanzo’s brow knits in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawns on him. He shakes his head. “No, that is not…”

“I’m gonna miss you too,” McCree interrupts. Hanzo still looks a little confused, and for a second McCree wonders if that’s really what Hanzo was having trouble saying. But if it wasn’t, Hanzo knows an out when he sees one, and concedes the lesser victory. 

“I will think of you often,” he says. It isn’t ‘I’ll miss you,’ but McCree somehow thinks this is better. It’s just such a… _Hanzo_ thing to say. Admitting his feelings without actually saying them. Smiling when he thinks he’s hiding his joy.

“You’re a weird guy,” McCree says. “I think I like it.”

“Hm.”

McCree turns to face Hanzo and steps closer to him. Hanzo looks up at him. No words have to be exchanged: they both move at the same time and kiss, eyes slipping shut. McCree’s hands come up to frame either side of Hanzo’s face while Hanzo wraps his around the cowboy’s waist. The kiss is slow and chaste -- a real goodbye kiss, and the realization of it hits McCree like a ton of bricks.

This is goodbye.

He savours the embrace while he can, but McCree knows he can’t stay here forever. He’s got a plane to catch, and a train before that. When he pulls away, he does it slowly, and Hanzo lets him go, grip loosening reluctantly.

It may be goodbye for now, sure, but McCree somehow doesn’t think it’ll be their last.

He takes Hanzo’s hand and lifts it to his lips, ever the hopeless romantic. “Until next time,” he says. Hopes.

Hanzo pulls his hand back and smiles. “Make sure you do not keep me waiting.”

McCree sweeps the hat off his heat and clutches it close to his chest a moment. “Me? I’d never.” He bows shallowly and puts the hat back on his head, tipping it courteously before stepping backwards toward the crowd outside the station. He lingers a second, trying to find the words. He can't -- not the right ones -- so he settles for “See you later, sugar.”

“...Goodbye, McCree.”  

McCree smiles and sweeps around, serape billowing behind him as he walks toward the next step in his journey.

_Yeah_ , he thinks to himself. _This definitely ain’t the last I’m gonna see of him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I want to give a massive shout-out and thank you to my writing buddies, [WordsfortheDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsfortheDead/pseuds/WordsfortheDead), [dagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagon/pseuds/dagon), and [sophieinflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophieinflight/). If there's anyone that should be credited with getting this fic finished, it's them. Writing is only half the battle - getting up and getting motivated is hard, and these are the people that make sure I do it by sitting with me and making sure I work.
> 
> Can't say when the next part is coming, just that there will be one.
> 
> Cheers, loves! And once again, thank you to everyone for reading, subscribing, sending me kudos, and giving me comments! 
> 
> \- timehopper ♥

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more or to find out how to support me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


End file.
